


Nightlies

by Lina_Love



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Denial of Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lina_Love/pseuds/Lina_Love
Summary: Tom is awake.  Tord is awake.  Tord needs as basic a distraction as he can find from an overactive mind.
Relationships: Tom/Tord (Eddsworld)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 70





	Nightlies

**Author's Note:**

> They're gay, but they won't accept they're gay.
> 
> Ringo will probably eat the abandoned chips, so no food is wasted.

Ｎｉｇｈｔｌｉｅｓ ；  
ＴｏｍＴｏｒｄ

The feeling of peace that the darkness of night brought was a blessing. There never seemed to be a time in the shared home when there wasn't someone screaming or getting themselves into deadly situations.

The only reprise was when everyone was asleep -- everyone but him, of course.

Alcoholic tendencies ran deep in Tom, but even he was able to admit that there was nothing sadder than getting tanked at noon on a weekday. So he waited, and settled in the living room with a bottle of Smirnoff, the soft glow of the television illuminating the room, some shitty adult cartoon playing, volume too low to really make out any of the dialogue.

It didn't matter. He was just here to drink, then maybe he'd be able to stumble to his bedroom. If not, the couch would be fine.

All that mattered was that things were calm, and he had a moment alone in the chaotic living space.

Most nights were uninterrupted. Sometimes a sleepy eyed Edd would wander through to steal a can of Cola from the fridge. Probably to chug after taking a leak, easing away the dehydration that came in the middle of sleep, only to black out again. He could picture him, drool sticking to the side of his face, Ringo curled up by his side.

He never saw Matt after midnight. God knows what that special breed did after dark, and he really didn't give a fuck to know or ask.

Tord was different. Much like him, he was a night owl. But while he preferred to numb every ounce of his body, Tord was 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦. He could picture him too. Hunched over a desk, pencil scratching against some blueprint or another. He probably had music playing. Something God awful, probably some shitty top 50 playlist from 2002.

Tord stayed out of the way at night, which, for all things he could be doing, he was grateful the Norwegian kept to himself.

He didn't know if he could handle his antics 24/7.

So, all in all, he was pretty sure he wasn't going to be disturbed. That this evening would play out like any other.

Imagine his surprise ( and absolute dread ) when the socked feet shuffling down the steps didn't belong to Edd, but to Tord.

Fuck him sideways with a butcher knife. Maybe if he ignored him, he'd take the hint and get whatever he needed, then leave.

The intention wasn't initially to retreat from his project, his focus was usually too zeroed in for that to be an option most nights. Determination drove him forward, and more often than not, he worked himself to sleep. There was no reason to venture from his routine.

Until there was a sharp pang of anxiety deep in his stomach. Unwarranted, uninvited, and seemingly out of no where.

He tried to move past it, kept focusing on the designs below him. The feeling only grew, creeping up and consuming him entirely. Fight or flight took over, and he sucked in a breath as he stood. 

This happened every now and again. Overstimulation was usually the cause. It probably was this time as well, pushing too hard and teetering on the edge of completely burning out. Whatever the trigger was, it was irrelevant.

He had to find a distraction, get something to eat. Move. Get fresh air. Anything.

The last thing on his mind was the drunkard as he made his way downstairs, and the Norski grimaced at the man as their eyes met as he passed into the kitchen.

Despite a lingering distaste for each other, they could read each other like books. Be it between glares, pouts, a stuck out tongue -- they could communicate without even speaking.

Tom noted the look in Tord's eyes before he was out of sight. The tenseness to the way he walked, lacking his usual composure and confidence.

Something was wrong.

The only thing was, he didn't care. Karma was a bitch, and the universe was right for throwing a bit of suffering Tord's way with how often he acted as an instigator.

Silence and peace took over again -- at least for a few minutes.

Tord stepped back into the living room, eyeing Tom and mentally weighing the pros and cons of staying down here until this wave of sickening emotion passed.

He'd rather be distracted by a possible fight with Tom than suffer the rest of the night.

So, without a farther thought, he plopped himself on the couch, opposite of the other man.

Tom's mouth opened to snap at the red clad individual, but anything he would have said was drowned out by the sound of a chip bag opening, impossibly loud in the dead silence of the house.

Was this asshole fucking serious? He came down, distrubed his peace, for what? For a midnight snack?

No. More than that. He'd seen the look. He could still see it on Tord's face.

His cocky smirk was empty, his eyes uneasy as they stared ahead at him. Something deeper was happening here.

Since when had Tord ever had a deeper level?

". . . What? Is it illegal to eat in your own living room now?"

Tord's accent filled the space, and it turned gears in Tom's mind that only produced irritation.

He knew what he was doing. He knew why Tom was so peeved. Fuck him. 

He wouldn't engage. Or, at least, he shouldn't. He shouldn't give him the satisfaction. Still --

"You know why I don't want you here. What the fuck is wrong with you, anyway?"

The words were followed up by a swift swig of vodka straight from the bottle, and the grimace it caused means he missed out on the way Tord's features dropped, only for a moment before a façade was built up again.

"Nothing is wrong with me. Shut up. Can't I sit in my own living room?"

"No. Because you never do. You know what? Forget it. I'm going to bed."

At least there he could drink in peace. At the end of the day, that's all he had been after to begin with. If Tord wanted to be difficult, that was fine. He had his own space just for situations like this.

He moved to stand, but the movement caused another spike of anxiety in the other man. He craved company. Needed it until this passed.

If Tom ever uttered a word of it, he'd deny it until he was red in the face, but one of his hands shot out to grip onto a blue sleeve.

". . . Stay. Just for a while. Then I'll leave, and you can drink yourself to death. Just -- 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺."

The Norski despised how desperate he sounded in the moment, but the fear growing in his stomach was more disarming.

The tone, the grip, that stopped the Brit in his tracks.

He could tell what was up with this man without words, but they made it clearer. His voice sounded small, scared. Had Tord ever sounded scared before..?

He couldn't recall a time.

He should wake Edd, he could deal with this better, but--

A few hours of his life wouldn't hurt anyone.

He let out a low huff as he sat back down, and when he had, Tord's arm retreated back to his own form.

"Alright. Fine. Don't tell me what the fuck is going on, because I don't want to know. What's going to happen is I'm going to sit here. And you're going to sit here. And the minute you pass out, I'm going to my room.

You'll feel better in the morning. So shut up, give me the chips, and go the fuck to sleep."

The Norwegian had never taken well to being told what to do. Especially not when the orders were coming from someone like Tom. 

He was right, though. The feeling always passed by the time he woke up after fighting to get to sleep. It'd be easier to do so here, with someone nearby. 

He could fight back, argue. But it felt easier to just roll with it.

He'd make up for it later. Probably by putting hair dye in Tom's shampoo. Or hiding his shitty guitar.

So, he set the untouched bag of chips aside, and slunk down further into the cushions.

Silence took over the room once more, and as Tord felt his feelings settled, he melted farther down into the couch. Eyelids grew droopy.

Eventually, his legs were touching Tom's, and the problem roommate in question was looked over --

Eyes shut. Chest rising and falling evenly. Head lulled to the side like his neck wasn't strong enough to hold it up.

He was asleep.

It only took about fifteen minutes.

Logically, Tom stumbled upon the conclusion that the influx of feelings had come from tiredness. Who the Hell could fall asleep that fast if they weren't drunk or beyond physically exhausted?

The alcoholic carefully tested the ground. Standing up. As the weight shifted, Tord didn't budge.

Dead asleep. And he was nothing if not a man of his word.

He clicked the television shut, but before he could bring himself to head up the stairs, he decided that Tord really didn't look comfortable. 

He wouldn't move his body. That was accepting he cared more than he'd like to admit. So instead, he shrugged off his hoodie and draped it over the other man to fight off any chills the night might bring.

Fuck him. If there was one drop of spit on it tomorrow he'd personally jam it down Tord's throat.

For now, he turned his back on the moron and made his way up the stairs.

Hopefully, their nightly routines would never cross paths again. 

Hopefully, neither of them remembered this in the morning.

And most importantly, hopefully this didn't mean anything that they weren't ready to deal with. It

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated 🥺👉👈


End file.
